


The Crimson Agenda

by thelastbarricade



Series: Hemlock Grove Prompted fics [5]
Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: I actually really enjoyed this???, M/M, Roman with lipstick, lipstick kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastbarricade/pseuds/thelastbarricade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys in lipstick, <br/>bathroom stalls, <br/>possessive Peter--<br/>does that cover it all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crimson Agenda

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt asked on my Tumblr by an Anon:
> 
> Roman wearing Lipstick.
> 
> I'm going to do a few more prompts featuring Roman wearing lipstick perhaps, because I actually really like the femininity exploration of Roman. I'm trying to get to all my prompt requests, especially since I now have WIFI at home.

7:34 AM 

~

 

“Would ya’ just fuckin’ grab something and be over with it? We’re gonna’ be late.” Peter scrubbed at his ears in impatience with calloused hands.

“Shut it.” Roman hissed with a hot breath. His evergreen eyes scanned the Isles in thought. “I’ve got an agenda.” He whispered, hands in his pockets as he swayed in front of his other, lips barely brushing Peters ears.

Peter almost let a growl break his lips but refrained.

“What are you even looking for?” Peter ran his fingers over the bagged chips in the Isle they were wandering through. “We’ve been in here nearly half an hour and I know by now you’re definitely not buying any more condoms.” Peter smirked as his eyes scanned the grocery store shelves.

Roman smacked him over the head with long lean fingers–hard.

“Will ya’ shut you’re freaking mouth before the old bat who runs this mom and pop joint throws us the the fuck out?”

Peter just about rolled his eyes.  
“I fucking blew you in isle eight that night you were feeling “adventurous”, so I’m guessing if they let us back in after tha-“

Roman turned the corner of their isle sharply, disappearing from Peter’s vision.

Peter followed in pursuit. He landed himself in the far rear of the store, cornered by cosmetics and oddly enough, small baked confections. 

Peter picked up a small assortment of Turkish Delights.

“Are you-”

“Let’s fucking go.” Roman pulled Peter away from the isle in quick.

“Hey now, Princess-” Peter huffed, shooting a panicked glance to the store owner as they passed her checkouy, Turkish Delights in hand.

“Put it on my tab.” Roman flashed his eyes to the older woman behind the counter, still pulling Peter alongside him. 

“Sweet,” Peter hugged the box of delights to his side, tucking them beside his school binder and books.

~

8:05 AM

~

Peter sat back in his chair, the teachers voice droning like it did most days. He brushed back his hair, letting his eyes close as he tilted his head up toward the ceiling.

A small wad of paper broke his concentration as it sailed directly into his face.

Fucking. Roman.

Peter sighed, jaw ticking as he flicked his glance toward the pale smirking boy two seats beside him.

Roman nodded his head toward the ball of folder paper, lips pouted as he waited on Peter.

Peter coughed, uncrumpling the note as the teacher explained the adverse history between the haiku.

‘Five minutes.’

Peter shook his head, confused. He mouthed ‘where?’ towards his other, but Roman was already up and moving, back nothing but a blur as he grunted out a soft “bathroom” to the teacher in explanation.

Three minutes passed and Peter had litetally fucking had it Mainly with the lesson in general and how incompetent and uncultured the teacher was in general–but Roman not being there was a big part of his short patience as well.

Peter picked up his Turkish Delights and binder and bee lined to the front door, making his way to the restroom.

“Godfrey-”

Roman stood in the mirror, slightly hunched over from his long frame. He had his slender, pale fingers wrapped around a small capsule colored gold and red, crimson.

The first thing Peter saw was the color; deep and dark and of such contrast on Roman’s skin it made him ache in his skin. It was breathtaking.

Roman had a swatch of color already painted on the full of his lips. Romans dark eyes flickered up to Peter, the tube of lipstick in his hand never wavering.

“Like it?” Roman taunted, voice smooth and calm for what predicament they were in. He finished the stroke on his lips, clicking the tube of color shut and tucking it into his pocket.

Peter put his binder and delights down on the edge of the sink, glancing back towards the restroom door.

“Fucking hell.” Peter ran his fingers through his hair, eyes never leaving Roman’s lips. Peter bit his his own lip in thoughs, swallowing hard.

“Typical.” Roman smirked, swaying as he stepped up to Peter, biting the newly stained color on his lips.

“Do you–like it?” Roman’s voice was soft, like it so was in private. Needy. Hurt.

Peter grit his teeth, rough hands moving up Roman’s hips, chest, a hand falling into his beloved upirs slick hair; tugging back in soft.

A hard moan fell from Roman’s lips, eyelids fluttering shut momentarily at the sensation of Peters claws in his hair–on his scalp. 

Peter’s breath drew itself out as he pulled harder, drawing them both into the larger stall. 

“Can’t ever let me get through one fuckin’ day-” A laugh bounced on the Were wolf’s words as he spoke, pushing his taller half to their knees.

“Never.” Roman whispered.   
He wrapped his hands around Peter’s thighs, digging his nails into the other boys jeans, brushing his reddened lips against Peter’s belt buckle.

“Is it-” Peter hesitated. “Is that stuff gonna-?” 

Roman ran his hand up Peters inner thigh, swallowing. “Twenty four hour wear, baby.” He whispered, pulling Peter’s belt open; undoing his button and slipping the Romani’s zipper down with an agonizing slow.

Peter let his fingers drag Roman’s scalp, drawing his lips into view.

The Romani’s eyes lingered on the boy before him. Stunned. Speechless.

“What is it?” Roman brushed his lips up and against Peter’s hardness, the tent and pull beneath his boxers that ached for Roman’s touch.

Peter let a sigh fall from him in soft.   
"You’re so beautiful, baby boy.” He whispered. “Jesus fucking christ.” 

“House of the holy, love.” Roman grinned, brow perked as he ran crimson lips up over Peters now exposed shaft through his boxers. He could taste the sweetness, tinged with salt from the sweat and pearls precum on Peter’s tip.   
Roman let his tongue run over every inch, every crevasse and vein that stretched over the sense time surface. 

Peter braced a hand on the bathroom rail, hips bucking forward as he pushed himself deeper into Roman mouth–between those full lips painted like the Roman cathedral in a shade he never knew he could need.

Roman looked up with such a need to match, a need for Peter. A need he had always had. A need that sprouted in his soul the moment he had laid eyes on this other boy, before he had known he could need anyone at all.

"Oh, jesus–baby-”

Peters hips shuddered as the flashes of crimson color came and went between his hips. “I cant-”

And it was a heat inside of him he had never known. It was like fire and fuel all in one filling him, leaving him. It was a vulnerability he had only known with Roman Godfrey.

White spilled onto the red that stained Roman’s lush lips. The upirs cupids bow was stained with his others release, most of it still on his tongue as he stood back up from his knees.

Roman swallowed, licking his lips with a cool expression wearing on him. Unreadable, like he always was to everyone but Peter.

Peter buckled himself back up, swearing in soft most of the way.

Roman smirked, stealing the box of Turkish Delights from Peter’s Pile of books on the restroom floor. He opened the box and leaned against the stall door, pressing a sugary sweet confection between his still red, wet, lips in slow–smile still stuck on his lips.

“Twenty four hour wear my ass.” Peter pressed a thumb to Roman’s lips, taking away powdered sugar and some of the color away on his thumb. He licked the sugar off his thumb, eyes never leaving Roman’s lips.

“I told you I had an agenda this morning.”  
Roman retorted, smirk still prominent behind his roughly spoken words. His lips were flush and full and stained. They were Peter’s and they were beautiful.

“Remind me never to bother ya’, then.” Peters fingers fumbled as he reached into Roman's pockets. He pulled out the tube of lipstick and tucked it into his own back pocket.

"I'm keeping this."

Roman's eyes lit up, childish and heavy with need.  
"We're keeping this." Peter let his lips fall to Roman's, hard and desperate and sweet.


End file.
